The Sumerton Women by D. L. Bogdan Page B

who to seek out first. More than Grace, Father Alec had made fools of everyone with his show of chivalry, not that Hal wasn’t grateful for it. God knew he was too rooted in terror to be useful.
    As Grace was ushered indoors the crowd began to disperse, shaking their heads and murmuring. Grace had wanted to give them an unforgettable celebration, he thought bitterly. He and Grace would be lucky to be received anywhere after this. He could not imagine how to undo the damage done this night.
    He stood a long while, apologizing to the guests as they departed. How he hated that! The pity that lit their eyes as they regarded him, the amusement that was barely hidden in others. May they all fall on the ends of their swords!
    His eyes searched the crowd for his children. Cecily and Brey were nowhere to be seen. He could only pray that they had missed the spectacle. As his eyes scanned the mass, he saw a shock of red organza.
    Mirabella.
    Oh, God. Mirabella.
    She was running. He did not know if he could follow her. He could not imagine how to comfort her, how to assuage the terrible anger and shame the girl would no doubt be feeling.
    He let her go.
    He turned away.
    All that was left of the evening was a table full of half-eaten delicacies, a shattered wine decanter, and a stained white gown.
     
    Mirabella ran to the stables, fetching her palfrey. She was too beside herself to ride sidesaddle so rode astride. She could not imagine presenting herself as more offensive than her mother, so it mattered not.
    She rode into the night, down the well-beaten trail to the only place that ever gave her any hope and comfort at all. Her convent. She would join them this night. She would leave her worldly life behind. They would hear her story. They could not refuse her. And her father would dare not deny her; he owed her this. He would send a large dowry. The sisters would be so happy!
    Mirabella entered the cloister sobbing and breathless. The coos and hushes of the sisters filled her ears as Sister Julia was sent for.
    “Mirabella!” the nun cried upon seeing her. “Darling, what is it?”
    How could she tell her? It was too scathing, too shocking, for ears so pure. Yet she did. Somewhere God gave her the strength to tell Sister Julia. The story poured forth in all its ugliness. Sister Julia listened in rapt attention, green eyes tearing as she clutched Mirabella’s hand.
    When Mirabella finished, she hung her head, covering her eyes with a slender hand. She could not abide looking Sister Julia in the face after such a horrific confession.
    Sister Julia wrapped her arms about her, drawing her near. She never found such comfort in anyone. Sister Julia’s embrace was soothing, warm, filled with such tangible love that Mirabella absorbed it, as thirsty for it as the soil was for healing, nurturing rain.
    “Oh, Mirabella ...” Sister Julia began. “I do not know what to say, how to comfort you. Lady Sumerton ...” She pulled away, cupping Mirabella’s face between her slim hands. The face peeking forth from its hood was the most beautiful Mirabella had ever seen and the smile, even in sadness, was the most radiant. Sister Julia sighed. “Mirabella, you must not be angry with Lady Sumerton. She”—she lowered her eyes—“she has suffered much. She is a great lady, far greater than anyone could possibly know. I understand how difficult it has been between you. You must forgive her, however, as God requires. But more than that, you must love her. She is in such need of it.”
    “I never want to see her again,” Mirabella said, her tone icy with involuntary hatred. “Oh, God, forgive me, I never want to go back to that house. I can almost taste the fires of Hell when I’m there—they are all steeped in the superficial, all taught to relish things frivolous and meaningless. No one pursues matters of the soul ... well, save for Father Alec, of course.” She averted her head, her heart pounding as she mentioned his name. “Please